


paws and effect

by blueink3



Series: you got a big old heart in there, david [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Disdain as a Love Language, Dogs, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gen, Gratuitous Use of F Bombs, Kid Fic But Not Theirs, M/M, Surprises, Uncles, parental figures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3
Summary: “Not now, Alexis,” he snaps after he punches Accept and her wounded expression makes him regret his tone, but only a little.“What, you weren’t even going to tell me you were getting me a little dog-niece or nephew?”“Yeah, funny thing, I don’t think we did this for you,” he says as he lifts up one of the throw pillows on the couch to look under it.“We, David? Oh so Patrick knows? So I can text him congratulations right now?”He glares at the screen. “Skydive without a parachute, please.”Or, a follow-up to 'There It Is, Beating Away' involving a puppy, a kid, and a surprise that very nearly goes wrong until it goes right.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: you got a big old heart in there, david [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164311
Comments: 138
Kudos: 353





	paws and effect

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read There It Is, Beating Away, I'll admit that not much of this will make sense, but the gist is that David and Patrick befriend a single mom, Jeannie, and her 8-year-old son Max, who plays on Patrick's Little League team. And at the end of that story, David reveals that he's surprising Patrick with a puppy. This is that.
> 
> Many hair pats and cheek kisses to MissGee for puppy proofing.

If there’s anything David Rose has learned over the course of his years in Schitt’s Creek, it’s that he has a great capacity for love - both giving and receiving. He’s not sure he’s particularly _adept_ at either, but the people in his life continue to tell him otherwise, which - sure. Okay. Maybe.

But he’s honestly concerned he’s reached his threshold and is at risk of blowing a valve when Max meets the puppy for the first time. It shouldn’t be possible to feel so much at once. His body wasn’t built for that. 

The kid has been all in since that day in the kitchen, when he agreed to keep David’s secret in exchange for unlimited dog pets. 

“Mission: Up is a go,” he had whispered the second Patrick left his side after the Father’s Day baseball game and David frowned because - 

“What?” 

“Up,” Max explained with a bit of an exasperated huff, which wasn’t appreciated, “because we watched the movie together and there’s a dog, Dug,” he added helpfully, “and also U.P. - Uncle Patrick.” 

David’s lips tucked into the sides of his cheeks and he bit back a smile. “That’s… surprisingly perfect.” 

Which is how they ended up here, in the last hours of Mission: Up, pulling into the parking lot of the Elmdale Rescue Clinic with Max practically vibrating in the backseat like - well, like a puppy. David had promised Max that he could be there for the reveal, and Jeannie had another all-day open house followed by a business dinner anyway, so the timing could not have been more perfect. 

Now to only keep Patrick in the dark for just a little while longer. 

David leads them into the lobby, Max skipping along at his side. Carol’s been expecting them, and he snorts when he sees that the paperwork still has the dog’s original name on them which, when combined with his own, reads Brut Rose. Clearly someone decided to be clever and add the acute accent over the e. Probably Carol. 

Maybe he’ll pick up a bottle. 

You know, for celebrational purposes. 

It’s been a lot of hoops, keeping this from Patrick, even just from a paperwork standpoint. Adopting a dog means references and interviews, but luckily, living in Schitt’s Creek has worked in his favor for once. Everyone knows the Roses, but for admin’s sake, he listed Jeannie, the Brewers, and (unfortunately) Stevie as references because the forms required three. And Carol’s husband is on the Cafe Tropical team so they were able to bypass interviewing Patrick as well as David because who wouldn’t give Patrick a dog? David’s pretty sure that the whole town would vouch for his husband if they could. 

Well, the whole town except for Ronnie. Because some opinions can’t be swayed.

Max is very well-behaved as David dots the i’s and crosses the t’s, and he hands the papers back to Carol who’s been texting him daily photographs with updates on the puppy’s progress. It’s too early to train her properly, but she’s gotten a B+ so far for going to the bathroom outside and using a pee pad if outside isn’t an option. She's as familiar with 'sit' and 'come' as David is with synthetic fabrics: a possibility but only in the direst of circumstances, and she only has a passing acquaintance with 'stay.' Considering David's high school average was only a B-, he has no room to judge. And frankly, he’ll take a dog who follows him everywhere over one who poops on his carpet any day.

“Don’t stray,” he murmurs when Max wanders off to look at the treats and other accoutrements hanging from the wall. 

“Like a dog!” Carol joyfully chimes, which is Ted-levels of annoying, but she’s giving him his fur-baby (a word he cannot _believe_ he just used) so he’ll let it slide. Also, he’s been in touch with Ted so much over the past couple of weeks, bombarding him with questions and fears and long distance anxiety attacks that the wordplay barely even registers. But then Carol goes and says to Max, “You must be very good for your dad to get you such a beautiful dog,” which definitely does. 

David stills utterly and completely, like shifting his weight in either direction might cause the peace they’ve found in the months since Max’s birthday to implode. 

“Thanks,” the kid chirps with a smile, like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just tilt David’s world off its fucking axis while admiring the (admittedly very chic) dog collars. David makes a note to ask who makes them with the infinitesimal sliver of his brain still able to function.

Carol goes into the back to file his paperwork and get the puppy, but David can still only gape. 

“Max, did you… hear what she said?” 

“Uh huh,” he replies, bouncing back and holding up a collar that will most likely end up around David’s puppy’s neck. “Someone said something like that once to Uncle Patrick. He spent so much time trying to explain who he was that I’m pretty sure the guy thought I had been kidnapped?” Max shrugs. “Seemed easier to just say ‘thanks.” 

David can’t argue with his logic. “Well… as long as you’re… okay with… people thinking that,” he manages (mangles). 

But Max’s reply is to simply grin up at him and twirl the faux-leather collar around his finger. “You’d be a good dad, Uncle David.” 

Just like that. And well. That’s just - too much for a Saturday afternoon. 

“Here we are,” Carol trills, saving him from himself and the minion at his side lobbing emotional nuclear warheads at his face. But then David notices the leash in her hand, attached to the ball of fluff that already has staked a claim on whatever’s left of David’s beating heart. Carol comes around the corner and there she is: 

Their as-yet-to-be-named puppy. 

Their fur-baby. 

Max presses into his side, grabbing onto his arm to keep from floating away, and David can only hope that watching Max meet her is an indication of how well Patrick is going to react. Because the kid loses his goddamn _mind_. 

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” he says over and over, dropping down to his knees and tilting his face up as the puppy zeroes in on lickable skin, whining as she tries to climb him to reach his ears. 

David’s heart thumps and throbs as Max’s giggles echo off the lobby walls. 

“She’s all yours,” Carol says, handing the loop of the leash over to him. And David doesn’t _think_ this is what it’s like when someone hands you your baby for the first time? But, like, it’s still fucking terrifying. He gingerly takes the nylon lead they will _definitely_ be replacing and kneels down, body bursting as the puppy transfers her affections from Max to him, hopping up on his bended knees and pressing her little paws into his jeans. Eyeing her nails, he’s very glad he opted for a t-shirt today instead of one of his precious knits. 

“Okay then…” He scratches her floppy ears and laughs as she licks at his stubble. “Yes, hi. Hello.” Like a vizsla, her coat is sleek and soft, but instead of ginger, she’s jet black, the lab side of her winning out in her coloring. She hasn’t grown into her skin yet, though, and her wrinkly face wrinkles further as David cups it in his palms. He feels Max’s hands on his shoulders, before the boy leans over and pets carefully at the puppy’s head. 

“Uncle Patrick is going to freak.” 

“Yes,” David can’t help but agree. “Yes, he is.” 

And the dog just burrows into his shirt, as if trying to crawl into him, and RIP his emotional bandwidth, David’s just _gone_. 

“Um, let’s go home.” 

Home. 

She’s his now. Theirs. 

Max’s little fingers digging into his shoulders are surprisingly grounding. The kid’s spent plenty of time with them and _he’s_ still okay. Still healthy. Still alive. 

Surely a dog can’t be much harder than a child. Right?

But Max usually goes home at the end of the day (or weekend) and this puppy _is_ home.

Nobody panic. 

With another too-cheery farewell from Carol, David controls his breathing and leads them to the car, to Patrick’s car, because there was no way in hell he was having his dog’s first impression of him be the _Lincoln_. No, he had left Patrick to take the Rose family car to the store while David took off with the excuse of a potential vendor meeting, a fake appointment he had the (surprisingly adept) forethought to put on the calendar weeks ago. When Patrick asked what they’d be supplying, David had said handmade, eco-friendly pet supplies. And that had been it. His husband had never questioned it. And now David needs to find that nonexistent vendor because his dog will _not_ be seen around town in _that._

Speaking of, he completely forgot to buy the collar. Ugh, next time. 

Max happily gets into the backseat, eagerly waiting for the puppy to join him. After a couple of failed attempts when her too-big-for-her-body front paws don’t want to work, David bends down and scoops up her bum, helping her hop onto the seat where she turns in a circle before plopping down with her head on Max’s knee. 

David takes out his phone and snaps a photo - the first of what will no doubt be _multitudes_ \- to send to Jeannie after the surprise is complete. He slides into the front seat, unable to help checking over his shoulder and then once more in the rearview to make sure everyone is situated comfortably. 

“All buckled?” 

“Uh huh!” Max replies. “Her too?” 

“You can try, but we haven’t gotten one of those harness thingies yet. I’m waiting to see how big she ends up being.” 

He watches, charmed, as Max attempts to wrangle the belt around the puppy’s lax body, all tuckered out from the excitement of the last few minutes. 

“That doesn’t look very safe,” Max says when the clasp finally snaps, and David agrees. Maybe he’ll have to invest in that harness thingy sooner rather than later. At least tiny humans get car seats. 

“Well, just keep hold of her. We’re not going very far and I promise to go the speed limit.” 

Like hell. He’ll be driving at least 10 kilometers below it all the way home. Which is probably why the ride ends up taking twice as long as it did to get there. He pulls into the driveway and parks, turning around to see that the puppy has wriggled out of her belt and is currently standing on the seat, nose pressed against the window (ew) as if automatically sensing the potential of _new surroundings_. Max is holding her in place carefully but firmly, and her little tail is practically smacking him in the face, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Hang on to her,” David instructs before unbuckling and getting out, watching as Max gives him a thumbs up through the window with the leash wrapped around his wrist. Deeming it safe, David opens the door and watches as the puppy keeps ducking her head down, trying to figure out how to get down like it’s a beam dismount in the summer Olympics. David saves her the trouble and scoops her up, gently placing her on the ground and giving her a perfect 10.0 in his mind. Max scrambles out closely behind and watches with unadulterated adoration as she inspects her new surroundings. “What do you think, huh? Acceptable?” 

The puppy answers by peeing on the grass ,and David can’t even be mad because better the grass than their living room carpet, and in fact, he feels somewhat proud. Oh my God, is this parenthood? 

“When is Uncle Patrick getting here?” 

“Not for another hour or so. He has to close down the store.” 

Max wiggles the pads of his fingers together like he’s an evil mastermind about to plot a hero’s demise. “So we have time to plan.” 

“Mkay, Lex Luthor? Chill.” 

“How do you know who Lex Luthor is?” 

Well that’s rude. David knows things. “I dated two of the three Supermans once. Not at the same time, obviously.” 

But Max just blinks. 

“Henry was lovely,” he feels the need to clarify, because he _was_. 

“So where are we gonna hide?” Max asks, skipping beside David as he leads them to the front door. 

“Well, her eco-friendly dog bed is in the back of my closet behind my suits. Patrick knows not to touch those.” His phone buzzes in his pocket and he shifts the leash to his left hand so he can pull it out with his right, hoping it’s not Patrick saying there’s been a disaster at the store and he’s closing up early. David would _almost_ take a water main break over the ruining of this carefully curated surprise at this point. 

Thankfully (or not, depending on her mood), it’s Stevie. 

**[Stevie]**   
**Has the eagle landed?**

He snaps another photo of the puppy sitting on the front mat, waiting semi-patiently for David to open the door and hits send. 

**_Has she ever._ **

The puppy lets out a pathetic whine that all but cleaves David’s heart in two and he finds himself whining in sympathy. 

“Are you okay, Uncle David?” 

“Uh huh,” he manages, throat tight as he hastily unlocks the door and unhooks the leash, watching the puppy inspect her new home for the first time, little body overwhelmed by all of the new sounds and scents.

David knows the feeling. 

He needs to share this moment with someone since his secret-keeper-for-life is the one he’s keeping secrets from, but Stevie is on a shift at the motel, and given how much she was bitching about her lack of solitaire playing lately, he has a feeling she’s busy. Alexis can’t not spoil a surprise to save her life (unless it actually _is_ to save her life) and David’s new dog decidedly does merit ‘mortal peril’ classification. Still. 

She’s getting better. 

And for Patrick, she usually tries her best. 

He pulls out his phone and types out a tentative **_I have news._ ** hitting send before he can rethink his decision. Her reply is swift and - not _quite_ what he was expecting. 

**[Alexis]**   
**Omg, are you dying?**

**_No!_ **

**[Alexis]**   
**Is Patrick dying?**

This conversation sounds morbidly familiar. 

**_No. It’s a surprise for Patrick, though, so if you tell him, YOU’LL be the one dying. You cannot say anything until I tell you you can. Do you understand?_ **

**[Alexis]**  
 **Oh my God, David, I ruined like ONE surprise party. Once. And Selena totally forgave me for spoiling her** **quinceañera** **.**

**_Um, no, it was three surprise parties - THRICE - one of which was my 21st birthday._ **

“Uncle David, are you sure you’re okay? Your face is doing something weird.” 

“I’m fine,” he mutters to Max, thoroughly regretting involving his sister in _any_ of this. “Hey, why don’t you go up and get the dog bed. You know where the closet is.” 

“And not to touch anything.” 

“Good boy,” David replies, watching Max trot up the stairs with a look of pride he imagines Domenico De Sole once leveled at Tom Ford at Gucci. 

**[Alexis]**   
**Jesus, David, I’m sorry I messed up your sloppy 21st birthday that no one came to anyway. What’s your news?**

The urge to be spiteful is stronger than one of Stevie’s moscow mules, but he reins in his pettier tendencies, pulls up the photo he sent to Stevie, and fires it off before he can really ponder whether looping Alexis into this little espionage act is the dumbest thing he’s ever done. 

Not quite, but it’s definitely close. 

An incoming FaceTime call from her comes in a second later which warms something deep within him, but he ignores it. Max is here and he’s still not sure how to fully explain him to his family. He had a close brush with the truth when he posted that photo from the Father’s Day game on his Instagram of Max and Patrick hugging. Alexis had liked it and almost _immediately_ texted him: 

**[Alexis]**   
**Um, who is this lil octopus who has his arms around my button?**

And David sat staring at the message for the better part of an hour, having a full blown crisis management session with Patrick over whether or not to reveal just how close they are with Max before deciding that whatever bond they share can be _theirs_ for just a little while longer. 

So he lied. 

A white lie. An omission. But a lie all the same. 

His phone buzzes in his hand just as Max is manhandling the dog bed down the staircase. He glances at the message before stepping closer so the kid doesn’t do a header down the recently refinished hardwood flooring. 

**[Alexis]**   
**OMG DAVID! I’m missing all of your life milestones!**

“You have a lot of clothes,” Max murmurs, jumping down the final step and giving David a minor heart attack. 

“Maximus, have you ever seen me wear the same thing twice?” 

Max glances down at David’s sweater and tilts his head, like he’s honestly never considered it. Then again, Max is wearing the same retro Super Mario Bros t-shirt Patrick got him that he wore last week and the week before so he doubts the concept of a detailed closet calendar rotation has ever crossed his little mind. Thankfully, David knows Jeannie does laundry often. 

“I dunno, maybe,” Max finally replies with a shrug and David nearly groans. What’s the point of the calendar anyway if no one notices? “Where’s the puppy?” 

Where’s the - _oh my God, the puppy_. David’s head whips around, looking towards the living room where she’d last been sniffing around, but she’s gone. Her coat is black, the carpet is cream; she can’t exactly _blend in_. It’s not like she’s a fucking chameleon. Oh my God, can she _do_ that? 

“We’ll find her, Uncle David. The doors are all shut. She couldn’t have gotten out.” 

God, he’s such a little Patrick in that moment, David could cry. And when his phone buzzes in his hand with another incoming FaceTime call from his sister, the urge gets even stronger. 

“Not now, Alexis,” he snaps after he punches **Accept** and her wounded expression makes him regret his tone, but only a little. 

“What, you weren’t even going to tell me you were getting me a little dog-niece or nephew?” 

“Yeah, funny thing, I don’t think we did this for you,” he says as he lifts up one of the throw pillows on the couch to look under it. 

“ _We_ , David? Oh so Patrick knows? So I can text him congratulations right now?” 

He glares at the screen. “Skydive without a parachute, please.” 

He’s barely had the dog for an hour and he’s lost her already. Why did he think he could handle this responsibility? How could he _possibly_ \- 

“Found her!” Max calls, and David is so overwhelmed with relief, he slumps sideways onto the couch. 

“Where was she?” 

“Licking up crumbs in the kitchen!” Max replies. 

Oh she _is_ his dog. 

“Um, David, who is that? Did you, like, de-age Patrick or something?” Alexis asks, and he honestly forgot about the phone in his hand for a moment. - 

Oh fuck. 

He stares at the screen, at the continuing FaceTime call and his sister’s expectant expression. 

“David? What’s wrong? You look like you just got into a box of botox.” 

Oh _fuck._

“Hi!” Max suddenly greets, popping up out of nowhere from behind the couch and settling into frame over David’s shoulder. “I’m Max. Who are you?” 

“Oh,” she murmurs, looking taken aback for all of a moment before tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’m Alexis. David’s sister.” 

In the tiny square in the corner, David watches Max’s face light up brighter than the sparklers on Selena’s cake. And then he says five words that make David’s stomach drop right through the soles of his Rick Owens shoes: 

“That makes you my aunt!” 

Oh _Jesus._

Alexis blinks. “Um, what?” Her eyes dart from David to Max and back to David again. “David - I thought you said you adopted a _dog_!” 

“I did!” he yells before promptly pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alexis, we’re kind of in the middle of something here, can I call you back?” 

“No, wait! Let me see her! Him?” 

“Her,” David murmurs, expression going soft and disgusting. The puppy chooses that moment to trot over and plop down on his foot, which does absolutely nothing to help the lump of molten goo his supposedly hardened heart has turned into. He flips the camera and hears Alexis coo through the speaker in a way he hasn’t experienced since Jared Leto gifted her one of his plaid flannels from My So-Called Life. “Okay, that’s enough.” 

“Don’t, David,” she snaps and he barely bites his hiss back behind his teeth. The child doesn’t need to know just how childish David can be. Not yet, anyway. 

“Isn’t there a marketing campaign you have to drive into the ground?” 

“Isn’t there a relationship you have to ruin with your insecurities?”

Okay, fair but uncalled for. It’s a dig that would have sent him spiraling before Patrick. Even post-Patrick, in the beginning. She always does know which bruises to poke. 

“Bye, Max!” Alexis trills, putting on her winningest smile. Unfortunately, Max crumbles in the face of its power like Pompeii before Vesuvius. 

“Bye!” he replies, leaning so far over the back of the sofa, he tumbles forward in a graceless somersault. 

“Shoes on the couch!” David yells, though he’s more concerned about the kid smashing his head on the coffee table, but Max dismounts his little gymnastics front tuck like Simone fucking Biles, startling the puppy who had dozed off on David’s laces. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, dropping his face in his free hand and wondering if all of the tiny creatures in his life are conspiring against him on this most trying of days. 

Alexis pointedly clears her throat and David peeks out between his fingers. Her eyes narrow to the right where Max is flattening out his mussed hair before finding David’s gaze once more. “We’re going to talk about this later.” 

“Clearly,” he snaps before hanging up on her. 

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Max says, almost accusatory. 

David hums. “I tried to sell her to a traveling circus when I was five but they didn’t want her.” 

“Really?” 

“Yep. Made it past the box office and got the elephant to sign my crayon contract and everything. But then the Strong Man reported me to Lost and Found, so. The sale was void.” David reaches down and runs his palm over the puppy’s back, calming her still-skittish frame. “I wasn’t allowed back to the circus after that.” 

Max leans into his side before tilting his head up and blinking those blue-eyed weapons at him. “So what’s the plan?” 

Right. “Yes, Lex Luthor. The plan.” He glances at his phone. “Uncle Patrick will be home in - oh fuck - thirty minutes,” he blurts, already digging into his pocket for the $5 bill he’s taken to keeping handy whenever Max comes to visit and passing it over. If it gets him four more curse words over the course of the next hour, so be it. 

He spies the dog bed Max had abandoned by the side of the couch and tries to remember his mood board for this moment. He’s been envisioning it for so long but now all of his fantasies have abandoned him faster than a Jonas Brother at the Clive Davis’ Grammy Party. 

“I think we’ll move the dog bed into the kitchen so he doesn’t see it. He always texts me when he’s on his way, so I’ll have you hide in there with her so she doesn’t run out prematurely.” _Like every partner prior to Patrick_ , he decidedly does not add. 

Max nods seriously, like David just entrusted him with state secrets to take through a hostile border checkpoint, and David leaves him to keep the puppy entertained while he pulls every accessory, treat, and toy out of their various hiding places around the house. He should have made a map. 

Of course, leave it to Patrick to pick today of all days to complete the closing tasks in record time, like David running for home plate knowing full well there’s post-show barbecue. 

**[Husband]**   
**On my way. You and Max need anything?**

David freezes halfway down the stairs as he stares at the screen, balancing a thirty pound bag of holistic puppy food on his hip. 

**_Just you_** , he manages to thumb back. 

And, like, ten extra minutes but basically just him. 

“Go time, Maximus!” 

“Yes!” the kid cries, running over to the dog bed and picking it up, the heavy polyfill unwieldy in his grip and nearly sending him toppling. 

“Do _not_ break a limb! A trip to the ER is not in the detailed schedule.” 

“Oh my gosh, Uncle David, it was _one time_ ,” is Max’s reply that pulls David up short. Pulls him up short and fucking knocks the knees out from under him because that’s him all over; every cadence, every tone, every word choice right there for all the public to see: 

David Rose influenced this human being. 

And what a burden that is to bear. 

Max has been indelibly fingerprinted by someone who has no business having any sort of impact on a child, but that’s a mini-panic attack David can have at a later date. He shoos the kid into the kitchen, pointing towards the corner that he cleared for the dog bed. 

The puppy diligently follows David’s heels and he’d melt over that fact a little more if his heart wasn’t actively trying to break out of his ribcage like Roxie Hart out of the Cook County Jail. He starts humming the Cell Block Tango under his breath despite his best efforts. 

“Okay, you two stay here,” he instructs, scooping up the puppy and trying not to smile as she licks at his jaw and nuzzles his neck, “and when Uncle Patrick arrives, I’ll let you know when you can bring her in for the grand reveal, which will hopefully be both tasteful and devastating.” He leans down and Max opens up his little arms. Luckily the puppy is still tiny enough to fit in them.

“Wait, what’s the signal?” Max whispers, despite the fact that Patrick is not home yet. 

“What?” 

“The signal! We need a signal! A code word!” 

“A code word? Okay, Alan Turing, calm down!” 

Max blinks. “I don’t know who that is.” 

“What the fuck are they teaching you at that school?” David reels, but then the front door opens and he holds his breath, sharing a wide-eyed look with Max who cradles the puppy to his chest like she might preemptively wriggle out of his grasp. Which, honestly, the chances are high. 

“David?” his husband’s voice comes, sounding strange and… strained. 

David frowns because that’s not normal. Regardless - “Ready?” he whispers. 

“Yep,” Max replies with a little nod, sitting down in the dog bed with the puppy, gently stroking the top of her head to keep her calm. 

“Good. Wait for the signal.” 

“We never _made_ a signal!” Max hisses, but it’s too late. 

David raises his voice to call over his shoulder, “Coming, honey!” before tapping his ear to instruct Max to listen. He makes his way out of the kitchen and through the living room towards the front door, where Patrick is still standing on their welcome mat, looking several shades paler than normal. 

“Um, is there something you need to tell me?” he asks, and David freezes. 

There’s no way he knows. He’s been, like, _James Bond_ -levels of careful. This surprise is his masterpiece, his Sistine Chapel. His Beyonce cover of Vogue. There’s _no way_ Patrick knows. 

“What - what do you mean?” 

“Well,” Patrick swallows hard, “I’d hope something like this would involve a discussion of some kind first…” Then he steps aside, revealing a gaudily wrapped pink present sitting on their doorstep with a helium balloon taped to it that slowly spins so David can read the **It’s a Girl!** written on the side. 

“Oh my God,” he breathes, stepping closer and bending down to read the front of the card taped to the gift, written in _very_ familiar handwriting: 

_Baby Girl Brewer-Rose_

Oh, she didn’t. 

“David,” Patrick murmurs again, “is there something you need to tell me?” 

“I’m going to fucking _kill_ her,” he blurts, but then he looks up at his anxiety-ridden husband and realizes he needs to elaborate. Quickly. “Yes,” he says, but then he notes the way Patrick’s pallor goes from pale to practically translucent. “No! I mean - yes, but not like that. No one is about to Three Men and a Baby us.” 

Patrick is still standing there, blinking numbly. David can practically see his pulse pounding in his neck. He gently takes hold of his shoulders and squeezes, snapping him out of whatever spiral his mind had taken him off on. 

“But if they were, I think we can agree I'd been the Ted Danson of the group,” he says with a little smile, leaning in and pecking him softly on the lips. 

“That better not make me Steve Guttenberg,” Patrick manages after a moment, and David blows out a breath. There he is. 

“Well, you can’t pull off the Selleck ‘stache, honey.” 

Patrick gestures back to the balloon, still hovering in the doorway and mocking all of David’s careful planning. “So we have Stevie to thank for this?” 

“What do you think?” 

The crease between Patrick’s faint brows eases a bit, but his eyes still dart around like Nancy Travis is about to pop out and shove a newborn in his arms. 

“And why, may I ask? If no one is leaving a baby girl on our doorstep for us?” 

“Well…” David starts, dancing his fingers down Patrick’s chest and taking hold of one hand, holding tight just in case his husband decides to give in to the clear urge to bolt. Then he grabs the present by way of the balloon’s string and yanks it inside before slamming the door shut. 

Fucking Stevie. 

He leaves the gift right there on the welcome mat to deal with later and leads his husband into the living room where he gently pushes him down into the sofa. 

“Where’s Max?” Patrick asks, looking around warily. 

“Doing something for me in the kitchen. Close your eyes.” 

“David, is he okay to be doing whatever it is he’s doing in the kitchen alone?” 

Oh my God. “Yes, would you please close your eyes?” 

“There are just a lot of sharp things, not to mention the stove - ”

“Patrick! Close your goddamn eyes!” 

This is not the tone David wanted to set going into this. He mentally ticks off another curse word towards his $5 allotment. 

Patrick raises a brow first and then narrows his gaze but finally does as he’s told, huffing slightly and settling against the cushions. He looks so adorably pouty that David just _has_ to press a kiss to that furrowed forehead. Patrick smiles softly, looking distinctly less stressed than he had a moment ago. 

“Uncross your arms, please.” 

Patrick does so with a fond shake of his head. “This better be child-appropriate.” 

David snorts and glances towards the kitchen to find Max sticking his head around the doorway. David silently mouths _code word_ because it’s the only fucking thing he can think of, but Max gets it anyway, nodding and stepping into the living room with the puppy cradled against his chest. He tiptoes over to the couch and glances up at David with a look that seems to ask _do you want to take her?_ but David just shakes his head and nods at Patrick, so Max leans forward, David holds his breath, and the puppy is finally placed in the lap of the person who’s been waiting for her longer than she even realizes. 

Patrick sucks in a breath as his hands automatically come around the tiny body already wriggling to find purchase, nose nudging at Patrick’s quivering chin.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. “Oh my God.” 

“Open your eyes, honey,” David quietly instructs, but he’s not remotely prepared for the moment when Patrick does. The look on his husband’s face just… _floors_ him. Utterly and completely. It’s joy and disbelief and so, so much love already that David almost has to look away. 

Almost. 

If Patrick looks like that when meeting his puppy for the first time, David can’t imagine what he looks like when looking at David; when looking at David when he thinks no one else is watching. David’s not sure he could physically handle that expression. 

God, no wonder the town thinks they’re disgusting. 

Patrick still seems incapable of saying anything but “Oh my God” over and over as he massages the puppy’s ears and buries his face in her neck. David can hear the telltale hitch in his breath though, and he knows his husband is only keeping it together because they aren’t alone. 

“Maximus, can you go to the kitchen and get - ”

But Max must know that they need an Adult Emotional Moment because he spins on his heel and hightails it away before David can even make up a task to occupy him. 

Patrick manages to wait until the kid leaves the room before the first tear rolls down his cheek. “David,” he whispers, voice cracking as he reaches out with one hand and gets a grip on David’s t-shirt. “You got us a _dog_?” 

“I did,” he replies as he kneels down between Patrick’s legs and willingly submits to the kiss Patrick is pulling him in for. “Is it okay?” he asks, leaning back from lips that chase him and wiping one of Patrick’s tears, because that had also been a fear - that Patrick wouldn’t be happy with the puppy David chose for them - but Patrick just huffs out a disbelieving breath, even as he hooks a free hand around David’s neck and pulls him back in. 

“It’s perfect. She’s _perfect_.” 

The ‘she’ in question makes her displeasure at being momentarily ignored known as she shoves her face in between them to plant a series of licks on whichever chin she can reach first. David is rightfully horrified because _skincare_ but he can’t be bothered to reprimand. He’ll just have to adjust his routine accordingly. 

“Nine-week-old vizsla black lab mix,” David murmurs. “Adopted from the local shelter.” 

Patrick hiccups and presses a kiss to her snout. “Does she have a name?” 

“Not yet.” He runs his hands over each of their heads, soothing them both. “That seemed like a decision best made together.” 

“I love you,” Patrick whispers, shifting the dog into his left arm so he can pull David in for a hug with his right. “I love you so much.” 

David presses a kiss just below his ear and just breathes him in. “I love _you_.” 

The tranquil moment doesn’t last long, though. 

“Uncle David, I can’t find the thing you never told me to find in the place you didn’t tell me to look!” 

Patrick laughs against his neck, a muffled sound that’s one of David’s favorites. “Come on back, bud!” 

“It’s safe?” 

David rolls his eyes. “It’s safe. We’ll try to keep the kissing to a minimum.” 

“Ugh,” Max groans, but he bounces back in anyway, plopping down next to Patrick and leaning into him so the dog can transfer her affections more easily. 

David shifts onto the couch as well and tucks himself into Patrick’s other side. “So, names,” he starts, pulling out his phone to open up the notes app where The List lives. 

“We are _not_ naming her Mariah,” Patrick says, and David opens his mouth to offer what will no doubt be a _very_ indignant reply as soon as he thinks of what to say, because yes Mariah _is_ typed out at the top, thank you very much, but Patrick preemptively cuts him off - “Or Tina. Or Whitney or Celine.” 

David pouts. “Shania?” 

Max wrinkles his nose from the other side, and David points at him. “Excuse you. No. We will be having a symposium on the greater stylings of 90s pop divas at a later date when I can put together a presentation worthy of the topic.” 

There’s a whole other argument to be made about whether Shania is considered pop or country, but they don’t have time for that, and no doubt he can just point the kid to Taylor’s Wikipedia page anyway. 

“Joni?” Patrick suggests. There are very few female artists they can mutually agree on, but Joni Mitchell is definitely one of them. 

“Sounds too much like his Mom’s name,” David concedes. 

“I don’t think Jeannie would mind,” Patrick chuckles. 

“Kelly?” 

“Eh.”

“Britney?” 

“ _No._ ”

“Aw, honey, are you still jealous that she invited me to her VMA party?” 

“How about Norah?” Max pipes up, but when neither of them responds, he clarifies. “... Jones?” But neither responds because they’re both staring at him incredulously, and he shrugs. “What? Mom likes her.” 

Because there’s no way Max could know that David comments on how quietly sexy Turn Me On is every time they get to that part in Love Actually, or that just two weeks ago, Patrick serenaded David with Come Away With Me and that David cried when he got to: 

_“Come away with me and we'll kiss_   
_On a mountaintop_   
_Come away with me_   
_And I'll never stop loving you...”_

David looks at Patrick, Patrick looks back, and that’s it. That’s their dog. 

Norah. 

“Max, you’re a fucking genius,” David offers somewhat wetly, never taking his traitorously damp eyes off of his husband who’s now cradling the tuckered out dog and slowly rocking back and forth like he’s holding a baby. 

“It’s perfect,” he murmurs. 

Things settle after that. Once the pressure of the surprise wanes, a bone-deep exhaustion overtakes David and he lets himself sink into the couch cushion, resting his head on his husband’s surprisingly comfortable shoulder and watching the ring David put on his finger starkly contrast the dog’s dark fur as Patrick gently strokes over Norah’s head with all the care he’s capable of. 

Which is quite a lot, it turns out. David, of all people, would know.

Max is also impressively contained, content to just cuddle up on Patrick’s other side and watch the puppy snuffle in her sleep. 

“What do you want for dinner, babe?” Patrick eventually murmurs and David shrugs. 

“I wanted to do something easy, so there’s stuff for spaghetti and meatballs in the fridge.” He moves to stand, but Patrick gets a hand on his arm. 

“You got me a dog. I can get dinner.” Then he presses a kiss to David’s cheek and deposits Norah in Max’s lap so he can stand and head for the kitchen. “Maximus, I assume you won’t be my sous chef for the evening?” 

Max looks longingly from the puppy to Patrick and back again. “I’m shirking just this once,” he promises, and Patrick laughs as he disappears around the corner. 

David takes advantage of the fact that his lap is free of both husband and puppy to take out his phone and pull up his thread with Stevie. His thumbs pound out the message even as he glares over his shoulder at the offending mylar still slowly twirling in his foyer. 

**_You nearly gave my husband a heart attack. You get no booze from the store for a month._ **

**[Stevie]**   
**So he didn’t like the present, then.**

**_A MONTH, you hellcat._ **

He doesn’t tell her that he has no idea what the present even is, and just so he can put himself out of his misery, he stomps over and yanks the wrapped gift up by the balloon’s tail, ripping open the gender normative wrapping paper and prying open the lid of the unsuspectingly tiny box - 

To reveal a small, faux leather collar sitting primly in a sea of tissue paper. A silver rose pendant, matching the Apothecary logo, is attached on a ring, nestled alongside a business card for the shop to call for an engraving. Their mobile numbers are already inscribed. All that’s left to do is her name. 

Oh Stevie’s the worst. She’s the best and she’s the worst. 

He claps his hand over his mouth as he feels the texture and sturdiness of the collar. It’s well made - _very_ well made - so well made he might have to call the number on the card for more than just an engraving, vaguely wondering if the collars from the shelter were from the same supplier. He clutches it in his palm as he heads back into the living room, placing a hand on Max’s head as he passes by the back of the couch. “You good?” he asks roughly. 

Max tilts his head back, beaming, and replies with a hearty, “Yup!” so David continues on into the kitchen where Patrick is standing at the stove and stirring something that’s bound to be delicious in a pot.

“Smells good,” he murmurs against Patrick’s nape as he wraps his arms around his waist. 

Patrick leans back against his chest, turning his head to place a kiss on David’s cheek as David lifts the collar up so Patrick can see. “What’s that?” 

“Stevie’s gift.” 

“Ah. And how are we feeling about that?” 

David buries his face in Patrick’s shoulder and groans. “We fucking love it and it’s hateful.” 

Patrick’s laughter rumbles in his chest beneath David’s hands. “I love the dog bed,” he says, nodding at the setup in the corner. David hums and squeezes tighter. 

“There’s a crate in the creepy attic room above the garage for when we have to leave.” 

“You went up to the creepy attic room above the garage alone? For me?” 

David sighs, put-upon and hopelessly in love. “For you.” 

Patrick rests more of his weight against him. “We can’t put her in there when we go to work, though. She’s too young to be left alone that long.” 

“She’s coming with us, obviously,” David replies. “There’s already another crate and a matching bed for the stock room that Twyla’s been hiding in the Cafe.”

Patrick huffs out a breath and drops the spoon, turning and draping his arms over David’s shoulders. “You are… something else, David Rose.” His voice catches. “I can’t believe you did all of this.” 

“Well, it only took two panic attacks, several bribes for Stevie, and countless google deep-dives on what the first few weeks are like.”

“Oh is that all?” 

“I also have a pretty extensive text thread with Ted going, so…” 

“I love you,” Patrick murmurs again, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, his chin, and then to his neck, in the spot made just for him. 

And David sinks into it, probably a little too much considering there’s a child in the next room, but then something cold nudges at the tender, exposed skin between his hem and his socks, causing him to gasp against Patrick’s lips. 

“Guess we better get used to getting interrupted,” Patrick murmurs against his collarbone with a laugh, before bending down and scratching at Norah’s floppy ears. “Does she need to eat?” 

David taps Patrick’s phone on the counter where he’s using it as a timer and hums. “She shouldn’t for another hour or so. They fed her at the shelter, but she gets two ounces four times daily. I have a measuring cup on top of the container with her portions marked out. We’ll increase it as she grows. There’s a laminated chart ready to hang in the pantry.” 

He looks down to find Patrick staring at him with something that can only be described as lusty awe. 

“God I love an organized man.” 

“Down boy,” he murmurs. 

Patrick raises an eyebrow at his current position and flicks a glance to David’s crotch. “I think I am.” 

Oh that is not fair. “We are not _alone_ , Mr. Brewer.” 

“Then stop being wonderful,” he replies. 

Norah gives a pitiful whine, and Patrick blanches, his face crumbling into adorably devastated sympathy.

“Oh my God, that’s the worst sound in the world, how do we make sure it never happens again?” 

“I think she needs to go out,” Max calls, appearing in the doorway a moment later. “The internet said she’ll need to go more often during the day than at night. But she’s definitely still going to wake you up a lot.” 

And, yes, David did read that, but he was really hoping their dog would magically defy the experts. Whatever, he’s putting her box on Patrick’s side of the bed. 

“Maximus, did you research our puppy for us?” his husband asks as he stands and takes the leash Max is handing over. 

“Obviously,” the kid replies. 

“Go walk your dog, honey. I’ll keep an eye on this,” David offers, gesturing to the stovetop. 

“ _Our_ dog.” 

“Our dog,” he concedes as Patrick leans in to place a kiss on his cheek. 

“Don’t think you’re getting out of those 3am walks,” he murmurs against David’s jaw, laughing as David groans. 

“I thought not having a kid got us out of midnight feedings.” 

“Should have adopted an older dog, babe,” he says, patting David’s ass. 

Rookie mistake. But, glancing down, David knows he wouldn’t trade this ball of cuddly fur for anything. And it’s only been two hours. 

He listens to the front door close, cutting off Max and Patrick’s excited chatter. David picks up the wooden spoon Patrick had dropped and gives the tomato sauce a lazy stir. 

He has to thank Stevie for the collar, but he’s allowing himself to stew in his anger at her shenanigans and his resentment that the gift ended up being so goddamn good for just a little while longer. Another hour at least. 

His phone buzzes in his back pocket and he worries it’s her - 

But Alexis’ name is the one on the screen, and he’s honestly not sure if he wouldn’t have preferred Stevie. 

**[Alexis]**   
**I think my niece would look good in this.**

And what follows is a link to an Etsy store selling a dog hoodie with **little sister** emblazoned on the back in (admittedly) tasteful font. 

**[Alexis]**  
 **My nephew, too.**

Another link from the same store, this time for a child’s t-shirt that reads **big brother**.

It’s horrifyingly sentimental and David _hates_ it - like, he might actually vomit from the unpalatable, disgustingly high sugar content - and yet he can’t stop staring at it. He doesn’t even want this in his browser history let alone on someone he loves, and yet his throat has gone tight and _what_ is _that_ about? He supposes Alexis’ enthusiasm and acceptance is better than the opposite. It’s a slippery slope, though. If he gives in to this, next thing he knows, she’ll be shipping them handmade **_live, laugh, love_ ** basswood wall decor. 

He shudders at the thought. 

**_Over my dead body._ **

**[Alexis]**   
**That can be arranged. 🔪**

**_Patrick would make sure you never got away with it._ **

Their conversation devolves into increasingly morbid ways to off the other accompanied by more and more ludicrous Etsy shop offerings, and by the time Patrick and Max return, the meatballs are nearly burnt and the sauce is boiling instead of simmering. 

David looks up from the phone he’s about to hurl across the room, and his jaw drops at the most precious thing he’s ever seen: Norah, cradled against Patrick’s chest, perched from elbow to wrist on his forearm, her head resting in the center of his palm. David wants to take a picture, but he also doesn’t want to disturb the moment, so he takes one in his mind, vowing to remember every detail to bring him comfort whenever he might need it. 

“And what happened there?” he asks, clearing his throat when his voice croaks.

“Oh someone had little too much fun running around the yard and promptly face-planted in the flower bed mid-frolic.” 

David truly didn’t think he could find his husband any sexier and then fate went and put a puppy in his arms. 

_Jesus._

He watches Patrick pad over to the dog bed and gently lay Norah down. It’s the kind of care he displays when removing David’s sweaters or picking up a sleeping Max. Norah barely stirs because Patrick is very good at what he does, and he stands again and turns to David, placing his hands on his hips. 

“Now what did you do to my dinner?”

“It was Alexis’ fault!” he says, wielding the spoon like a fairy godmother, but it would take Whitney herself to magically fix this. 

The meal is salvaged, and actually not too bad, which they would notice if any of them were actually paying attention. They can’t stop looking over at the puppy and the gentle rise and fall of her belly; the gentle snuffling in her sleep, the twitch of her ear when she feels a phantom itch. 

The table is cleared and Max dutifully packs the dishwasher with his typical, frighteningly adept precision. Patrick picks up the bed, dog and all, and carries it into the living room so Norah isn’t thrown if she wakes and can’t find them. 

They start a movie, Homeward Bound, because Max is persuasive and David loves both a good cry and Michael J. Fox, but within the first ten minutes, Max is curled up on the dog bed with Norah and sound asleep fifteen minutes after that like the traitor he is, leaving Patrick and David to silently sob their way through the rest of the film alone. 

As the credits roll, David stands and takes another photo of their passed out ward, sending it plus the one he took earlier in the car to Jeannie. Her response is both swift and terrifying: 

**[Jeannie]**  
 **You know he’s never leaving your house now, right?**

He gasps and shoves the phone at Patrick, who stands and blinks under the glare from the screen before letting out an undignified snort. 

“She just texted me that she’s picking him up in twenty minutes. Don’t worry.” 

“I’m not _worried_. You know I… don’t _mind_ spending time with him. Just not on a permanent basis. Especially now…” he trails off and gestures to the sleeping puppy. 

“That we have our own fur-baby?” Patrick supplies and David reels back, affronted and, frankly, appalled.

“I can’t believe you just used that word.” 

“I definitely know it’s floated through your brain at least once today,” his husband teases, wrapping his arms around his waist and tucking his hands in David’s back pockets. 

“Twice. Under duress.” 

“Sure, David,” he whispers, pecking his lips. 

They spend the remaining minutes straightening up, and David finally hangs the puppy food chart on the wall in the pantry. Eventually, a timid knock sounds and he heads into the living room just as Patrick is opening the front door to Jeannie. 

“Hey,” she whispers, kissing Patrick on the cheek before heading for David. “I didn’t want to ring the bell.” 

“Very strategic of you,” he replies, stepping out of the way to reveal her son curled around the puppy, contorting himself into an almost anatomically impossible half-moon in an effort to fit on top of the dog bed. 

Jeannie presses her fingers to her lips as she stares down at them. “While that is absolutely the most precious thing I’ve ever seen, this definitely means Max is never going to shut up about getting a dog. What have you done to me?” she hisses, smacking Patrick on the arm. 

“He can come by whenever he wants,” Patrick offers.

Then David thinks of the eye full Stevie’s gotten on multiple occasions after arriving unannounced and he pales. “But please call first.” 

Jeannie snorts indelicately, like she knows _exactly_ where David’s brain went, and Patrick’s pink cheeks aren’t helping matters. 

“Here, we’ll help you,” Patrick says, stepping towards the bed. 

“I’ll get one, you get the other,” David offers, before pausing. “And by the way, the one I’m getting is the lighter one.” 

After some maneuvering worthy of a drunk Twister game, Max ends up in Patrick’s arms, his head resting on his shoulder, and Norah ends up cradled in David’s. He watches from the doorway as his husband gently maneuvers Max into the backseat of the car and carefully buckles him in. Jeannie gives him a hug and whispers something in his ear that has Patrick’s head tilting back, his laughter echoing across the empty night. God, he’s gorgeous. 

David extracts an arm to wave goodbye as Jeannie pulls out of the drive, and Patrick makes his way back up the walk, smiling softly in the dark. 

“Well, look at this,” he murmurs as he shoves his hands in his pockets, pausing halfway. “Look at my family waiting for me.” 

_Family._

Such a simple word to knock the wind right out David’s lungs. 

Sure, he’s used it before, but not like this. Not for something that is so distinctly his. _Theirs._ He looks down at the puppy whose nose is tucked into his elbow and feels his lower lip wobble. 

“Excuse you, thanks to Shadow coming out of the woods, I have done enough crying for one evening, so if you could just hold off on any more emotional torpedoes, I’d appreciate it.” 

“Anything for my husband,” Patrick whispers, kissing that wobbly lower lip before leaning down and pressing one to Norah’s head. 

“Okay, you can’t do that either,” he rasps, a treasonous tear splashing onto his cheek. 

Patrick’s face is doing the thing that’s half teasing, half tender, and half touched - which is too many halves but math was never David’s strong suit. “I can’t kiss my puppy?” 

David’s heart thumps. 

“My puppy that my incredible husband got for us?” 

It thumps harder. 

“That my incredible husband got for us and surprised me with and looks really good standing in the doorway of our home holding?” 

David’s heart explodes. 

“Apparently not,” he manages, tugging Patrick in and burying his face in his shoulder, waking Norah who merely sticks her nose in Patrick’s neck as well, like she’s missing out. To be fair, she is. It’s a great neck. 

Accidentally waking her is for the best since they get her to go to the bathroom one more time before taking her upstairs. Patrick pauses when he gets to the room and notices the cardboard box on the floor. 

“They say it’s less traumatic for the puppy to be in the same room at night,” David explains. “She’s used to being with other dogs. This way she can smell us, and we can hear her when she needs to go out. It’s lined with pee pads just in case she has an accident anyway.” 

“But she has to be in the box?” Patrick pouts. 

“Listen, if you think _me_ wetting the bed is bad…” he starts and Patrick hums. “Also she’s too tiny to roam freely. She could get hurt. It’s not for forever.”

“I notice it’s on my side.” 

“Coincidence only.” 

Patrick chuckles as he heads into the en suite. “Okay, David.” 

They get ready in turns, letting one person have the bathroom while the other keeps an eye on Norah, giving her time to inspect and get comfortable in her new surroundings. 

When David finally finishes, he steps into the bedroom, only to stop dead at the sight in front of him: his husband in a delicious, white t-shirt, gently swaying with the puppy over his shoulder, humming Come Away With Me softly in her ear. David leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms, watching his whole world spin slowly in front of him. 

Patrick eventually finishes his careful turn and catches David staring. “Oh.” He looks a little embarrassed, but David shakes his head to silently tell him he doesn’t need to be. “I was just… welcoming her home.” 

Family. Home. 

His. 

“It’s a good look,” he murmurs as he steps closer, getting an arm around Patrick’s back and pressing into his side. “Welcome home, Norah Brewer-Rose.” 

“Has a nice ring to it,” Patrick whispers and David nods, stepping away so Patrick can gently place her in the box. She turns in a circle before abruptly plopping down, huffing out an exhausted, adorable sigh. 

David heads over to his side of the bed, and he finds himself blurting out, “Alexis FaceTimed today,” as he pulls down the covers and slides in. 

“Yeah? How’s she doing?”

“She’s an aunt, apparently.” 

Patrick stills, the color leaching from his skin again. “What?” 

Oh. A hasty explanation is probably necessary considering Stevie’s little prank is less than twelve hours old. 

“Max crowned her as his aunt,” he continues, placing a placating hand on his husband’s chest, “so now she’s plotting, like, all of these absolutely horrific things to send us. Seriously, if something arrives with a New York postmark, do not accept it.” 

“Ah,” Patrick breathes. “So they finally met.” 

David makes a noise in the affirmative. “Against my best wishes.” 

“You kept them apart for a long time.” 

The noise turns negating. “Not on _purpose_.”

“And how are we feeling about that?” Patrick asks again, but David just buries himself further into his husband’s shoulder. 

“He took to her _very_ quickly.” 

“Aw, babe, are you jealous?” 

“No,” he definitely doesn’t say not-petulantly. And he _definitely_ doesn’t think about the fact that he had nearly the same freakout when Stevie was introduced to the mix. It’s a quandary he can ponder when he’s not feeling quite so emotionally exposed, as he settles in for the first night of this new existence; this new dynamic. 

The three of them. 

It takes less than a half hour for the first whine to come; a pathetic, heartbreaking thing that slices through David as quickly and cleanly as a Shun Premier 6.5” Nakiri knife. 

“I’ll put her back, I promise,” Patrick says, and before David can really process what’s happening, his husband is leaning over and scooping the puppy from her box, resting her on his chest and gently stroking her from head to tail. Her whines immediately quiet because she knows _exactly_ what she’s doing, but David can’t fault her. 

It’s a heady power to wield, having Patrick Brewer wrapped around your finger. 

“Pushover,” he whispers against his husband’s temple, settling in against him and tangling their legs.

“Yeah,” Patrick replies, finding David’s hand in the dark and threading their fingers together on Norah’s back. “But you knew that.” 

David sighs, utterly content, possibly for the first time in his life. 

“But I knew that.” 


End file.
